Where are my katanas Donkey?
by Edgemunde of Dexteros
Summary: Shrek x Donkey alternate reality romance hurt angst help this isn't a fanfiction it's a cry for help HE ACTUALLY RELEASED CHAPTER 2, THE ABSOLUTE MADMAN! 2019 Yearly Update is out :)
1. Chapter 1: Where are they, Donkey?

**"Where are my katanas Donkey?"**

Shrek sat on the couch, flicking between channels idly. He was waiting for Donkey to come home. Eventually, he heard the telltale click of the door unlocking and Donkey entering the building.

Shrek had to have a serious conversation, so he turned the TV off, before turning to confront Donkey.

"Donkey," intoned Shrek, "Where is my katana collection?"

Donkey shifted uneasily. He had known Shrek would ask this from the moment he secretly sold them to Dexter Widdershins down the road.

"I, uh..."

"Donkey," repeated Shrek, this time with a menacing tone.

"Look man, they aren't healthy... Your anime addiction isn't good for you."

"Isn't good for me? Isn't healthy?" roared Shrek, "You won't be healthy if you don't tell me where my katanas are you four legged sack of shit!"

"Calm down Shrek, they aren't gone forever," lied Donkey, knowing full well Dexter would never give them back.

"Oh really now?"

"Yeah."

"OK."

Shrek hugged Donkey close, looking at the ring on his finger.

"I love you donkey."


	2. Chapter 2: Violent Whims

"Dexter, please man," begged Donkey, "you gotta give 'em back. I haven't seen the neighbours in two weeks since they made a post on Facebook saying One Piece was gay."

"I'm sorry my friend, but a deal is a deal. I won't let you back out of this one so easily. After all, you still owe me for the exorcism I performed on your possessed armchair last year…"

"And I'm telling you it wasn't even possessed! Besides, I never even said you could come over-"

"Dexter! Are you home?" Shrek's tell-tale voice rattled the window panes.

"Shit! I've gotta go bruh!" Hissed donkey, beginning to open the window to Dexter's backyard.

"Where?"

"As far away as possible!"

And with that, Donkey was gone.

"DEXTER! OPEN UP DEXTER!"

Shrek annihilated the door in a single blow of his mighty fist.

"Dexter. Return them to me."

Dexter gestured at his expansive collection of blades. "If you want them, you'll have to prise them from my cold dead hands."

Shrek nodded. "So be it."

Dexter launched himself at Shrek, corkscrewing through the air and howling like a demon, blades flashing in eldritch patterns inconceivable mortal minds. Shrek met him fist to sword, turning the razor-sharp edges with his bare hands in an awe-inspiring display of pure chadness.

"I won't lose to you, Shrek," screeched Dexter, his face contorting into a gargoyle-like visage of pure hatred, "I sold the souls of everyone who ever loved me to attain this level of dexterity!"

Catching his arm, Shrek threw Dexter through his floor to ceiling windows onto the street outside and lept after him.

"Enough," roared Shrek, the impact of his landing cracking the concrete footpath. Stamping his feet and howling at the sky, Shrek unleashed his true power. His cries, a harrowing echo of some primordial horror raked the sanity of all who heard them; his feet, beating a rhythm long forgotten, called to mind scenes of base brutality and evoked long-dormant feelings of instinctual repulsion in all who bore witness to such untamed and savage revelry.

The culmination of such extreme malignance tore open the very earth, creating an open wound that haemorrhaged molten stone and burning fumes into the quiet neighbourhood and laid waste to the once peaceful suburb. The gaping scar swallowed Dexter whole, a tribute to whatever dark god his ogre rival served. Thunder rumbled, and lightning rent the unnatural twilight wrought by falling ash and overcast weather. As Shrek stood and rested a moment, savouring his victory, the first raindrops fell, steaming on the ravaged earth.

Dusting himself off, Shrek examined the rubble of Dexter's home, eventually finding the duffel bag he kept his weapons in. Confirming all were present, Shrek returned to his home. He found the door slightly ajar, portending dark days to come: for when he sat down to watch some anime, he found his Crunchyroll subscription cancelled.  
"Donkey," he whispered, his quiet words carried upward into the heavens by a mournful rising wind, where the very Gods trembled at the sound.


	3. Chapter 3: The Darkness of Despair

The whistle of the wind through countless burnt out dwellings and the acrid smell of burnt plastic were Donkey's only companions as he slunk from shadow to shadow, fleeing the scorched corpse of Ogre Street. The lone donkey carried with him the burden of knowing that were it not for his actions, the peaceful suburban surrounds would not have been reduced to a graveyard of scorched brick and charcoal tombstones.

The wind redoubled its efforts, carrying from the north a tell-tale scent which stung Donkey's nostrils and sent a shiver of fear down his spine: the odour of festering onions. He lowered himself even further, sinking into the long shadows cast by the setting sun. If he could just make it to the canal, it was likely he would be able to hide his trail and escape Shrek's fearsome wrath. Two blocks to the south, the canal was diverted from a river and flowed out to the sea, where Donkey's salvation likely lay. The space between Donkey and the canal was much like what he had passed through previously: a collection of half collapsing buildings, deep trenches, and fuming pits of molten stone, all remnants of the cataclysm that had turned Donkey's life upside down. The cataclysm he was responsible for.

The two remaining blocks of buildings would be easy to traverse stealthily; Donkey worried more about the wide, open space between the last line of buildings and the canal. Rising to his feet, Donkey continued his journey, increasing his pace again. He knew that Shrek could travel much faster than he, and should he catch up before Donkey had crossed the open space before the canal, all would be lost.

Donkey arrived at the canal as the moon began to rise, sheltering under the awnings of a sagging warehouse. This was it. The last hurdle. Donkey's knees shook, but he knew what must be done. He had to escape and find the only one who could stop Shrek; that was the only way he could atone for what he had brought upon this cursed land. Steeling himself, Donkey stepped from the safety of the warehouse's shadow.

One step, and then another, met only with the silence of the now windless sky. The full moon shone upon him, casting a stark and pale shadow behind him. Should Shrek be watching, it was certain he would be seen. Another step, and another. More silence. Clip clop. His hooves clacked on the cold concrete, echoing quietly between ruined buildings. Seconds dragged into hours, and after what felt like an eternity, Donkey stood at the precipice of the canal. Bracing himself, he plunged into the dark water.

The water was ice cold; chilling undercurrents tugged the vital heat from his body and pulled it out to sea. The sea: perhaps the only place he could truly lose Shrek's relentless pursuit. A familiar and yet somehow unplaceable scent rose surreptitiously from beneath the surface of the canal, but Donkey paid it no mind. He was so close; soon, the current would carry him out to the clean sea and free him from the onerous burden of Shrek's pursuit. He floated low and silent in the water, allowing the current to carry him for fear of making too much noise should he attempt to swim. The canal began to open out and Donkey could smell salt on the wind, and hear the wailing of the gulls.

Something lukewarm and clammy wrapped around the ankle of one of his hind legs. Another seized his forelegs. The canal began to churn and rage against the shores as unseen limbs thrashed the water to foam, and ahead of Donkey, something huge and ominous rose from the epicentre of the chaos. Looming and fetid, drooped in garlands of rotting seaweed and dripping with scum and refuse from the canal floor, Shrek rose from the waves; cast in silhouette by the unforgiving moon and steaming in the frigid water, Shrek seized Donkey all his writhing, tentacle-like limbs.

"Did you think I wouldn't guess you would take the canal, Donkey?" he gurgled, his rotten-onion-and-seaweed breath hot on Donkey's face.

"Do you know why you couldn't escape me, Donkey?"

Donkey thrashed against Shrek's eldritch grip, straining every muscle to escape its unnatural hold as it dragged him down into the dark and mouldering depths.

"It's because you're weak, Donkey."


End file.
